Suspended Pistols

             Suspended Pistols

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem

Most men are made of crudest iron in shapes

Like penises instead of thorns.  These blunt

Iron prickles make their forced, demanding scrapes

In victims often in what men call c _ _ t.

In fact the shapes stick out all over them

Or so it seems and not just in the crotch.

These forms demand and threaten, lifting hem

And dragging panties down.  Men put a notch

For each hole conquered, secret notches on

Their members.  Metal of these shooting guns

Floats through society, worship of hard brawn

Allowing this, this floating weighing tons.

  Desire (a fancy word for lust) suspends

    Most morals for male barbs that seek sex ends.

Phillip Whidden